Read between the Lines
by xheartless-huggerx
Summary: England doesn't like America...or does he? summary sucks, WARNING: Things are blown out of proportion. USxUK Teen for suicide attempt.


A/N Hello! This is just a little one shot with England America.

**WARNING: YAOI, THINGS BEING BLOWN OUT OF PROPORTION, THOUGHTS OF SUICIDE,**

Oh and I refer to **England as blonde** and **America as Dirty blonde**. Just saying for little confusion! Enjoy~!

It was a rainy, bleak day at America's house where the G8 meeting was held today. America had been waiting for everyone to leave the room. Everyone but England, that is. Once the blonde country finished sorting his papers, America tackle hugged him from behind.

"I looove you!" The dirty blonde sang cheerily.

"I don't like you." The smaller blonde said bitterly. He was becoming particularly bitter lately, in America's opinion at least.

"Eh~ England, but" America was cut short of his sentence by a slam. England slammed his gist on the table, turned to look the confused country square in the eyes.

"America, I don't _like_ you! When will you get that through your bloody skull?" he shouted at the stunned man. England quickly gathered his papers and headed out the door leaving America with a brain swimming with questions and confusion.

America felt compelled to follow after the British nation to apologize, to have him allow for the American nation to be close to him. But today for some reason, maybe it was the dreary rain, the feeling of anger that the British man left lingering in the air had the dirty blonde locked in place. The way he had said that, today he sounded beyond the annoyance he normally was in, it clicked in America's brain. He wasn't wanted, for anything, by the one that matter most to him.

He walked out of the meeting hall sluggishly into the pouring rain. He continued to trudge forward as deadly thoughts poisoned his mind.

If England doesn't even _like_ him, what was the purpose of moving on? He loved England ever since he could first remember the smile on bushy browed man's face. Worst of all, every precious memory, everything around him, everything on this Earth reminded him of his soft smile, cat like green eyes, pale smooth skin, his lemon blonde hair. And if anyone were to get closer to England than he was, a twang of pain spread in his chest, he wouldn't know how to move on.

America slouched forward, attempting to think of something that he should live for. A few thoughts popped into his head, but he found them either relating to England or insignificant compared to him. He looked across the busy street he had began to walk next to. He felt a pang of adrenaline and sadness. He couldn't, he _wouldn't_, live in a world without England not liking him. He took a small step.

"America!" a familiar voice shouted.

The dirty blonde flicked his head over towards the voice. Coming back to reality, he took a step back out of the street. He could make out a particular short blonde man storming over to him.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?" England blurted when he was about ten feet away.

The stunned American nation managed to stammer, "B-but you don't like me."

The short nation halted. His face became a vibrant crimson.

Half of America was expecting the English nation to scream at him to drop the situation and stomp his way back home, the other half expected him to say something like "That doesn't mean I don't care" or "That doesn't mean you should kill yourself." But he hoped that more than expected it.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid, I thought least _you'd_ get it…" the frustrated bushy browed man muttered shaking his head slowly.

America, still not comprehending, tilted his head slightly in a confused manner.

England looked him square in the eyes for the second time today, only this time they were out in the rain, and there was a different glint in his shiny emerald eyes. He began.

"I don't like you. Read between the lines, America. I don't _like _you. I…" he trailed off hoping that America would catch on. When he didn't, the English nation looked for the right words to say.

"I don't like the way you smile, the way you laugh at my jokes, even if they aren't that funny. They way your eyes twinkle when you get an idea, the way you strut down the halls with such confidence, the way you talk with a smooth, convincing tone, the way you admit how much you love me, I don't like it at all."

"I love it."

The pitter patter of the rain disappeared to make way for the single phrase.

England blushed and waited for America to respond. When he didn't England put on a scowl, became frustrated and said,

"I love you too, okay?"

America found the words music to his ears. He sprinted over to the smaller nation. The taller country lifted the shorter country up, spun him around, and made their lips meet. When they parted, America held the small nation close to him, while the blonde country continually muttered,

"I love you, stupid."

A/N: okay so it's been a while since I've really written anything, so yeah constructive critizim. Thank you! ^.^


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